


A Place for You and Me

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Omega Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: “Be careful in the hallway,” Viktor says. “I had to move the bookshelf out of the bedroom.”A famous interior decorator from a magazine placed that bookshelf there two years ago. Yuuri remembers the glossy spread about Viktor Nikiforov’s modern apartment very well. It’s still in a protective plastic cover in his parent’s attic. “Why?”“I bought something new,” Viktor says, cryptic.





	A Place for You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late birthday, Auri! <3 And thank you for the beta. 
> 
> Thanks also to SVDD, particularly Athra, Limix, and Nye <3 You're all the best. Nye, you can do it, go ace those exams!

He’s dismissed the notification on his phone so many times that it almost doesn’t register. Luckily a message from Viktor comes in at the same time.

**Viktor**

One week left! ❤️

**オメガーヘルパー**

「❼日」

It’ll be Yuuri’s third bonded heat. It’s amazing how the six months between flew by. Today’s the day to stop taking suppressants, which means he’s going to have to stop by the pharmacy and buy Cyrillic anti-nausea pills, since going off his medication always causes that unfortunate side effect. 

Yuuri hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and shuffles along, cheeks red from the biting cold wind of St. Petersburg. 

He only makes it two steps past the threshold of their apartment before he’s wrapped up in Viktor’s atms.

“Hello, _zolotse_ ,” Viktor purrs in his ear. “How was Lilia today?”

Yuuri thinks of her sour expression and absolute, terrifying, perfect grace. “Good. I think she and Yakov are warming up a bit again. How was your afternoon?”

“Good, good. Got asked to do another perfume ad!” Viktor says.

Yuuri struggles to slip off his shoes; a difficult feat from within Viktor’s embrace. The air smells like home cooking, tomatoes and basil and, “Pasta?”

Viktor’s smile is heart-shaped. “You need some extra carbs, right?” Viktor nuzzles a little closer to the scent gland on Yuuri’s neck. “I can already smell it.”

“Viktor.” Yuuri reaches around and rubs Viktor’s back, a warm contrast to his dismissive tone. “I haven’t even really stopped taking them yet.”

There’s no way his scent could really change so fast. Biology doesn’t allow for it. Still, Viktor kisses his bond mark, humming. “You smell so sweet already.”

Makkachin’s wet nose presses against the back of his palm. Yuuri adjusts to scritch behind her fluffy ears.

“I’ll let Lilia know,” Yuuri says, although he’s sure she’ll be able to pick it up on her own very soon. He’s lucky to be taking lessons with her and is loathe to miss any.

“Mmm, and I’ll let Chanel know,” Viktor says. “I scheduled the shoot without double checking the calendar.” 

It makes something warm flutter in Yuuri’s chest, that Viktor has an omega app on his phone just like Yuuri does, attentive and caring. Viktor’s retirement is still a sharp loss for both of them, even if it does give him more time for modeling and coaching. And dealing with Yuuri’s heats. 

They settle down on the couch. 

“I’ll ask Yurio to watch Makkachin,” Yuuri says, stretching his ankles in little circles. “He seemed sad when we asked Georgi to do it last time.”

“Good idea. We can’t deny Yura something he dislikes so very much!” Viktor ruffles Makkachin’s ears as she settles in a fluffy mass of curls across their laps.

It’s very warm.

… until it isn’t. Two days off suppressants and Yuuri is freezing. Contrary to popular belief, _heats_ are anything but warm for him. Nature’s way of ensuring he makes a nice, warm nest turns into a modern annoyance. 

Still a little sweat-damp from practice, Yuuri tucks his face closer into the wool of his scarf and concentrates on the hot bath awaiting him at home. It’s no onsen, but Viktor’s bath is deep and wide and it will do nicely. 

“The taxi will pick me up early tomorrow,” Viktor says, arm draped around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Do you want me to wake you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He’ll fall easily back asleep after Viktor leaves. The Chanel ad people had been understanding of his time restraints. They had to be, since taking time off to care for your omega’s heat is protected by law. 

Despite the apartment’s heat being cranked up high, it scarcely feels like they’re out of the snow to Yuuri when they arrive. He takes off his coat and hat quickly, gritting his teeth at the cool air and focusing his whole attention on _bath, soon._ His head aches and he knows it’s bleeding into his mood. Neck tight, Yuuri drops his winter clothes at the door and makes a determined beeline for the bathroom. 

“Is it warm enough for you?” Viktor says from down the hall, fiddling with the thermostat. Viktor likes to fuss, and the closer it is to Yuuri’s heat he likes to fuss _more._

“Yes!” Yuuri lies, taking off his clothes and turning on the shower spray, fighting a shiver. There’s no need to stress out Viktor, who’s already regretting scheduling a shoot so close. Yuuri refuses to allow him to cancel.

The wet tiles are freezing as he steps in; thankfully the spray is boiling lava hot. Yuuri’s skin flushes bright red immediately and he lets out a contented moan as he starts to wash off the sweat from practice. It’s still a little weird to bathe in the same place you wash, but Yuuri has grown used to it from Detroit and now St. Petersburg.

He knows if he mentioned it to Viktor, there would shortly be a Japanese-style bath installed in their apartment. Which is ridiculous. 

Viktor perks his head in the door, letting in cold air. Even with all the steam Yuuri can smell his alpha scent. The shower curtain ruffles with the new breeze from the door opening, flapping condensation onto his bare leg.

“Should we order in?” Viktor asks.

Making a healthy meal at home is their usual plan, but Yuuri knows he needs to stock up on even more calories. He has an athletic build and needs to eat more during preheat to avoid muscle loss. 

“Let’s order pizza,” Yuuri says. He lathers shampoo through his hair and rinses it out slowly, luxuriating in the hot spray for much longer than his eco-conscious mom would approve of. 

Through the sound of running water, Yuuri hears Viktor order their usual pizza, and the fanboy still inside Yuuri delights that he has a _usual order_ with Viktor Nikiforov. 

When Yuuri exits the steamy bathroom, it doesn’t take more than a minute before gooseflesh is prickling over his skin again. Preheat isn’t usually _this bad_. He makes a dive for the blankets on the couch, huddling underneath so only his face pokes out. His headache, temporarily soothed by the shower, comes back in force. 

Viktor sits down next to him, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s blanket-covered shoulders. 

“Be careful in the hallway,” Viktor says. “I had to move the bookshelf out of the bedroom.”

A famous interior decorator from a magazine placed that bookshelf there two years ago. Yuuri remembers the glossy spread about Viktor Nikiforov’s modern apartment very well. It’s still in a protective plastic cover in his parent’s attic. “Why?”

“I bought something new,” Viktor says, cryptic.

Viktor buying something new isn’t novel, but it’s generally not items big enough to displace a bookshelf. “Mmmm.” Yuuri drops his line of questioning when his phone buzzes with messages from Phichit and he gets sucked into updates about his best friend.

It’s after they’ve eaten that Yuuri finds out about the new addition to their bedroom. Sleek and modern, on a raised platform piled with plush blankets and pillows, sits a nest straight out of a designer advertisement. Viktor must have had someone come in and install it, the contents of the entire room are shuffled to accommodate the extra furniture. 

It’s beautiful. Heavy slate-colored curtains drape around a black metal frame, ready to be tugged closed and make the nest an even more private space. Yuuri recognises the type; nests with raised platforms like this have heated floors, meant to ease an omega through nesting and preheat. Yuuri wants to bury himself in the blankets immediately, tug Viktor down and chase away the cold that’s settled in his bones. Yuuri clenches his fists and shoves his impulses down. Yes, it’s sweet, and yes, it looks _so warm_ , but something about the way Viktor’s been hovering all day, combined the soft blue blankets and _matching nest throw pillows_ prickles at Yuuri’s pride.

Something hot slides down his throat, to burn in the pit of his belly. Viktor’s never been away this close to his heat. Does he think Yuuri can’t take it? Is this pity?

“I thought since I’d be away for a few days, you might like to-” Viktor says, heading over to the nest and fluffing a tempting pillow.

“It’s perfect,” Yuuri interrupts. “Thank you.”

Viktor catches on to the change in tone, a little crease forms between his perfect eyebrows. “You don’t like it? We can pick something else.”

“No,” Yuuri says, more firm, because if this is pity, it’s from a place of love. Yuuri just has to shut it down immediately. “It’s great. I was just thinking, you don’t have to worry about cutting it so close to my heat for the Chanel ad.”

Viktor’s plan is to return a full 24 hours before it’s due to start. “But Yuuri-”

“Didn’t you say they’re worried about the weather holding out for the photoshoot?” The production company had even offered to fly Yuuri out and have him nest there, at a comped heat hotel, just to keep Viktor on set a few more hours with their other models.

“Yes, but-” Viktor looks put out.

Yuuri just knows he needs to do this. “You should just fly back on Friday,” he says, which is the day his heat starts. 

Viktor’s about to protest, so Yuuri crosses the room and laces his fingers together behind Viktor’s neck. “Plus, won’t it be more exciting if there’s a little wait?” Yuuri looks up at him through lowered lashes, projecting seduction with everything he has. “It’ll be even better when you do get here.”

Yuuri is an adult. He’ll be fine. He refuses to be a pitiful omega, pathetic, clingy and needy. 

“All right, Yuuri,” Viktor says, leaning down for a kiss. Yuuri kisses him back.

Then, because it seems like a waste not to, tugs Viktor down to the fresh nest. It would be a shame not to break it in. 

\----

Really, apart from being annoyingly cold, the days with Viktor gone go just fine. Yuuri stocks up on groceries, focuses hard on a few variations his new FS choreography, drops off Makkachin with a sulky Yuri, and misses Viktor terribly, no more or less than when his heat isn’t involved at all. It’s an ache, a familiar one, but he’s strong.

It snows. Yuuri eats and eats until there is a thin layer of fat over his muscles, and comforts himself with the knowledge that it’ll all burn off soon.

He shuns the nest, instead staying stubbornly in their bed, breathing in the slowly-fading smell of Viktor and holding firm in the belief that he’s stronger than his nature. 

In fact, he’s doing just fine until mid-morning on Friday, when everything hits at once. Halfway through cleaning dishes from breakfast, Yuuri nearly drops a soapy glass. 

The dish soap is lemon scented, crisp and bright. Yuuri breathes in and is suddenly overwhelmed by it, heavy in his nose and throat like toxic fumes. He shuts off the water and backs away from the sink, more than a little startled.

The entire kitchen smells _awful_. 

Yuuri redirects to the bathroom to rinse the last of the lemon soap of his hands.

Nothing like this has happened before, and Yuuri has had plenty of solo heats. Every heat before Viktor, in fact. 

Usually he just gets horny and spends a miserable day or so with his toys until his body realizes that no alpha is coming and gives up. All in all, he’s been lucky, blessed with short heats at carefully-regulated intervals, suppressed by his doctors because international athletes just don’t have time to deal with those things.

They’d extended to two full days since he and Viktor bonded, probably in an effort to match up with Viktor’s longer ruts. 

Yuuri dries his hands on a towel that smells far too strongly of detergent and takes out his phone, feeling shaken. It’s 10:23am.

Viktor’s flight is scheduled to arrive at 11:30am. This is fine. He _asked_ for this. A little more than an hour and Viktor will land, taxi home, and be here like always. 

Yuuri isn’t the best at checking his phone; notifications litter his lock screen. Phichit likes to send Yuuri a picture at least once a day (there’s an early-morning photo of Celestino and Phichit having coffee), and there’s a message from Mari about their mom’s upcoming birthday, wanting to coordinate with her brother on a gift.

He taps into messages and his stomach drops, because there’s one from Viktor, sent a few hours prior. The flight’s delayed.

Yuuri bites his lower lip.

He’s still feeling chilly, so the line from preheat to heat hasn’t been crossed. He can handle this. Yuuri heads to the bedroom, calmly gets out a few of his favorite toys, and sets a few bottles of water near the bed.

The nest sits in the corner. He’s been ignoring it as best he can, not even testing the heat function yet. 

Outside, the air is frigid. Yuuri can see empty branches whip back and forth outside their bedroom window. 

Yuuri checks Viktor’s flight on his phone, seeing the new arrival time is 5:45pm.

Everything will be just fine.

\---

It isn’t. 

A few hours later and Yuuri is shivering, miserable, in their bed. It’s been a few days and Viktor’s scent in the sheets is already worn-out, faded. 

He’d raided the dirty laundry and managed to gather a few things that still smell strong enough: a few pairs of underwear, some socks, a work-out shirt, which he then piled in the blankets next to him. Yuuri still has enough pride burning inside that he isn’t rubbing his face against the dirty clothes. Yet.

The nest sits across the room, inviting. 

The thermostat is turned up to maximum but still even the tip of Yuuri’s nose is cold. 

Viktor won’t be home for at least another four hours. 

Yuuri angrily balls up the comforter and laundry, then drags the entire awkward pile to the nest itself. There’s a little button near the head of the mattress, with a temperature dial. Yuuri immediately sets it to maximum, then tugs the curtains surrounding the nest out of their holders to shroud the whole thing in darkness (and hopefully trap in some of the heat).

He’s browsing the internet on his phone, scrolling through the latest figure skating news, when a torrent of wetness down his thighs has Yuuri briefly worried that he wet himself somehow. His underwear are immediately soaked in sweetly-scented, thick slick, and the wetness clings to his skin.

His heat is entirely out of order. He’s still clothed, under blankets, trying to keep warm, but the slick still leaks out of him anyway. With clammy hands, Yuuri slides off his underwear and pajama pants, struggling to get them off without letting in cold air as the blankets shift, then shrugging off his shirt too. His skin is starting to get sensitive, each movement of cloth over his skin is too rough, too much, but still he shivers. 

At least the fleece-lined floor of the nest radiates heat.Yuuri burrows closer, the soft padding brushing against his bare nipples and soft cock. He tries not to think of of how expensive the bedding he’s leaking slick into is, as the liquid slides slowly from his entrance, over his balls, and into the softness. This is what a nest is _designed_ for, after all.

Yuuri reaches for his phone and starts drafting a message to Viktor, but deletes “Please hurry home” before he can send that particularly pathetic text. 

Yes, this is uncomfortable, but it’s fine. Viktor will get home as soon as he can.

It would be nice to focus on his phone some more, get lost in reading, become absorbed in an online game, but focus is elusive. Every quiet sound in the house makes his heart jump, elated with the thought that Viktor’s home.

The scent glands on his neck and wrists are swollen, uncomfortable. Yuuri rubs his wrists against the blankets and pillows, which only serves to make everything smell like needy omega and irritate the skin on his wrists from over-rubbing. 

The last few heats haven’t been anything like this. Viktor had been there from start to finish, scenting him and teething at his bonding mark, fucking Yuuri again and again, then laying back and letting Yuuri fuck him while he recovered. All in all, a fantastic time. He misses Viktor’s elegant hands, warm alpha scent, sweet smile, and especially his thick alpha cock, always ready to stretch Yuuri open and pump load after load of his semen inside.

Thinking about it has the natural consequence of getting him hard. Yuuri wraps a hand around his own slim cock and grinds forward into the nest, fucking into his fist. Slick drips down over his palm, adding lubrication.

Where is Viktor? Doesn’t he know how wet Yuuri is right now? How badly he needs to be filled, knotted?

Half-delirious, Yuuri sends a message off to Viktor one-handed.

He then drops the phone and reaches down to play with his balls while he fucks his fist, cupping them, rolling the hairless skin between his fingers.

It feels good, the tight, familiar ring of his fingers, as he slides in and out, but Yuuri is an omega bonded to a male alpha, and his body knows what it wants. He won’t be able to come without something inside him, stretching him open.

Yuuri reaches for his blue dildo with sticky hands, struggling to find it amid all the sheets and in the dark of the nest. When he finally wraps his hand around its girth he nearly cries, pulling it immediately between his asscheeks and letting the blunt, silicone head press into his wet hole.

It’s hard to keep his grip as the toy is covered in slick as it presses deeper into his body. Even with all this, Yuuri is still cold, miserable, desperate. He pistons the toy in and out, fast and brutal, seeking any kind of relief, but the toy is cold and only makes him crave the real thing more. Stretched wide and dripping slick, he still can’t come.

Yuuri tries to think back to his health classes in school, but he can’t follow a thought from beginning to end. What the hell is going on? He entertains the idea of calling a doctor and then rejects it out of hand; the embarrassment is too great. 

After a long, aching span of time, Yuuri hears the sound of the front door opening. He opens his mouth to cry out, but no words come, just a desperate sort of croak. 

“Yuuri!” His voice is high, tense. Viktor’s footsteps get closer.

There’s still a part of Yuuri that doesn’t want Viktor to see him like this, stubbornly holding on to the idea that he should be stronger than his biology. Even though Viktor’s seen him at his worst, Yuuri wants to show him his best, always, so he shuts his eyes, bites his lip, and tries to keep from doing anything even more pathetic.

The drapes around the nest part, letting in the first bit of Viktor’s alpha scent. Yuuri breathes deep, chest heaving, even as he shoves blankets aside to make room.

Yuuri’s eye drink in the sight of Viktor. The red tie in his suit–is that the same suit from the photoshoot?–hangs loose, the cuffs around his wrists are unbuttoned. Viktor’s hair is mussed, fluffy and out of sorts, like he’s been running his hands through it mercilessly, and his scent, normally very steady, is stressed and agitated. Has he been looking like this in front of _regular people?_ Viktor’s public persona is solid, elegant, carefully crafted. A surge of guilt wells up in his heart. 

Yuuri pulls Viktor down by his loose tie, even as Viktor’s hands are reaching for Yuuri, running over his bare skin. They collapse against each other in the nest, Viktor fully clothed above him, rough fabric against his desperate nudity and the heat from where Viktor’s hands touch his skin is almost too much, when everywhere else he’s _so cold_. He shudders violently, wanting to strip Viktor, be skin to skin, but only able to grasp fistfuls of suit and whine high in his throat.

Yuuri presses his nose the the scent gland in Viktor’s neck and breathes deep, inhaling what’s normally warmth and comfort and calm, but all it does is make his skin itch for more contact. Viktor’s just as desperate, pressing swift kisses to the column of Yuuri’s throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, muffled. He tugs at Viktor’s shirt and tries to push it off of his shoulders without letting go, unsuccessfully. 

“This is never happening again,” Viktor says, fierce. “Never, ever again.”

He feels so good, so solid, so _real_. His alpha’s here, finally paying him the proper attention. It’s Viktor, running his hands over Yuuri, scenting him aggressively, placing indiscriminate kisses everywhere he can.

Yuuri scents Viktor back, furious to correct the imbalance. Viktor smells like airport and himself, but not like he’s _Yuuri’s_ and that’s absolutely unacceptable. Viktor’s arms wrap around Yuuri tight like a vice, and Yuuri’s gripping back so hard his nails are digging in, leaving marks. 

“Aaaah,” Viktor says, voice rough, “I can’t do that again, zolotse. All I can think about is you.”

“Good,” Yuuri says. “ _Good._ ” Maybe that thought wouldn’t make it through his brain-to-mouth filter on a regular day, but Yuuri’s burning with possessive fire. He bites down, sharp, over Viktor’s well-worn bond mark, then sucks at it, tasting him.

Viktor laughs, breathy. He runs his hands up and down Yuuri’s sides again, and Yuuri is aware most acutely that there’s still a toy inside him, stuffed in tight. He drags Viktor’s hand down to grip at his ass. 

“Viktor-” he stops sucking at his neck long enough to whine, pleading, words garbled, “Viktor, please.”

Viktor’s above him, warm and real. Yuuri ruts up against him like an animal, rubbing his slick cock against Viktor’s pants. Why is Viktor wearing so many clothes.

Viktor’s hands grip at the firm muscles of Yuuri’s backside, appreciative, reverent, then return to Yuuri’s hips for leverage as he flips him over onto his stomach. Yuuri can feel Viktor’s clothed cock press against his ass, shifting the dildo even deeper inside, and he whimpers, pushing back. “Were you playing with yourself?”

Viktor’s hands are strong and steady on his hips, and he uses his grip there to rub Yuuri’s ass against his cock in circles, and Yuuri nearly cries as the toy is pushed in to its flat base. 

“Yes.” Yuuri growls. “You weren’t here.” Why had Viktor left? Abandoned him? Yuuri reaches down in a haze to grip his own cock--it’s so hard, he hurts, he hurts--and Viktor catches his hand and holds it tight.

“You told me to leave,” Viktor says, still rubbing against Yuuri. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Yuuri nearly cries in frustration. He hunches down, pressing his face into the pillows, and presents himself more clearly, thighs spread and ass up.

Viktor leans down over the slope of his omega’s back to bite, sharp, at the bond mark on his neck. Sweet and indulgent, he chases the pain with sucking kisses.

“Yuuri,” he says, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

This isn’t anything like he wanted. Fuck. 

Yuuri surges up and grabs Viktor by the chest, flipping their positions so it’s VIktor with his silver hair in a halo below Yuuri, Viktor looking up at him with an open mouth and wide eyes.

“If you’re not going to do it properly,” Yuuri says, ripping at Viktor’s dress shirt, pulling it open heedless of insignificant things like buttons, “I’m going to do it myself.”

Viktor’s hands return to his side like they’re magnetized, stroking over his hips. His expression shifts to a wide smile. “Okay, Yuuri.”

Viktor shrugs out of his suit as well as he’s able to, with Yuuri kissing him and unzipping his pants at the same time.

God, he’s so wet. The toy is useless inside him, cold. He wants to pull it out, have Viktor inside him instead, but now that he has Viktor’s cock free of his pants he can’t resist putting it in his mouth.

Viktor’s hands shift to his hair as Yuuri sucks the tip of his cock. His heat always enhances his senses, making Viktor’s erection taste incredibly, overwhelmingly good: masculine, sweat, and salt. 

Yuuri flattens his tongue and swallows it, feeling the ridge of the head as it slides down his throat, and tastes Viktor, all of Viktor. He loves every bit of him, every facet, but right now especially this: the way he hits the back of Yuuri’s throat so easily, the way his fingers feel tight in Yuuri’s hair, tugging at the scalp. Yuuri isn’t magic, and however desperately he wishes to he can’t fit Viktor fully in his mouth, so he makes do with stroking the base in time with each bob of his head. Viktor’s breathing hard, crying out praises and encouragement, but that all falls like warm white noise to the background. His world is focused on the feeling this alone, hard and heavy in his mouth.

Eventually, Viktor’s sounds get a little more frantic, and it isn’t until he’s saying, “Yuuri, Yuuri, I’m going to-” that Yuuri snaps back to attention, pulling off and gripping the base of Viktor’s erection to stop him from coming too soon.

“No.” Yuuri says. Unacceptable. Yuuri’s hot--so hot, now, from the places their bare skin touch, the chill that was gripping him for days replaced by fire. 

“You want it inside you?” Viktor says, chest heaving, but there’s a fond smile on his face. “Of course you do.”

Yuuri lets Viktor take the lead again. He pulls Yuuri down into a hungry kiss and reaches around to between his asscheeks to finally pull out the toy. Yuuri groans into Viktor’s mouth as he’s emptied. A torrent of slick slides out and down his thigh, the sticky-sweet scent of it filling the nest further.

God, he’s so empty. He feels wrung out; the tension of the day and overwhelming need sparking across his nerves suddenly too much. Yuuri closes his eyes, scrunches them shut against the heat gathering there, but a few tears leak out, hot and wet down his face. He hates this vulnerability, this weakness; it’s an affront to his pride.

Viktor knows this isn’t something to comment upon; he’s learned. He keeps kissing Yuuri, deep and loving, as he flips their positions so Yuuri is below him again. Yuuri spreads his thighs wide and hold his knees up back by his shoulder. In many ways, it’s a position more vulnerable than his display before, because he can feel Viktor’s eyes on him--on his blotchy, teary face.

He’s so very wet and aching, but still the stretch of Viktor’s cockhead pressing inside him is incredible as always. Viktor slides inside in one solid thrust and ecstasy shoots through Yuuri’s veins. He felt hot before, but now he is a burning flame, singing with need fulfilled. Breath tight, stomach clenching, he comes hard across his own belly, nails digging into the flesh of Viktor’s perfect shoulders.

Viktor has the audacity to laugh. Yuuri would be mad, would be embarrassed, but Viktor’s still thrusting into him, slamming his perfect cock inside deep and sure, even as Yuuri clenches around him and sobs out his pleasure.

“Better than the toy?” Viktor says, teasing.

Fucked into honesty, Yuuri says, “I couldn’t come without you.”

Viktor leans down to kiss him again, one hand staying to grip Yuuri’s hip and the other cupping his face, tracing away tears with his thumb. If they were on the bed the mattress would be squeaking, but here in the nest it’s just the soft shift of fabric and the sound of their labored breathing. When Viktor comes, he nearly collapses over Yuuri--Yuuri, who greedily pulls him closer, closer, even though they’re already joined as intimately as they can be, with Viktor’s knot swollen tight inside him.

In the quiet, as their breathing slows, Viktor shifts as he always does to soft, sweet praise. Yuuri soaks it in, stores it up until he’s bold enough to say it back.

“Sweet, precious, beautiful, my Yuuri… I missed you so, so much, it was torture. I couldn’t stop dreaming of you, without me here to protect you, take care of you… and have you there to take care of me…”

Yuuri melts further against Viktor. The tight muscles in Yuuri’s neck relax, as wave after wave of heat washes over him. A low purr starts in his chest, quiet--Yuuri’s always starts quietly--and grows louder and louder. He presses soft kisses to Viktor’s neck, cheek, forehead, ear; the drapes of the nest create their own safe little pocket of the world where they’re close as can be, safe and together. 

Having a nest together isn’t about Yuuri. It isn’t a coddling or overbearing; it’s a place for both of them. 

Still, his pride is so that the apology sticks in his throat. Yuuri put them both through such torture, forcing distance. “I love you,” he says, quiet but steady, because those words come easiest in times like this.

“Anything for you,” Viktor says. That’s not right.

Yuuri threads his fingers through Viktor’s hair, pulling him so they’re face-to-face, eye-to-eye. “No,” Yuuri says. Words are hard. This has to be said. “Anything for you. I love you.”

He hope Viktor understands. He thinks it works, from how bright his eyes are, how warm his smile.

The only person who thinks he’s weak is Yuuri himself. Ever since China, Viktor’s done nothing but believe with his whole heart that Yuuri is the person he wants to be. He presses his face against Viktor’s neck and feels Viktor mirror the motion.

“I love you,” he says again, can never say enough. “I love you so much.”

Despite the rocky start, it’s the best heat he’s ever had. The nest stays in its place in the bedroom, the bookshelf remains banished to the hallway. Biology is biology, but Yuuri’s chosen Viktor with his whole body and whole heart too, and tries to remember that when Viktor fusses and buys him things, tries to reciprocate the affection.

He loves their nest. When the drapes are open, sunlight pours across the blankets; when the drapes are closed, it’s dark and safe and quiet. Always, it is warm. 

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite part of abo is nesting. Nest is best. Had to channel all these feelings into a fic.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
